


Road Less Traveled

by Wolfcry22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent John Winchester, Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Protective Sam Winchester, The Impala (Supernatural), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfcry22/pseuds/Wolfcry22
Summary: “And Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you rust? I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.”Dean goes a little overboard trying to clean the Impala after John’s death.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 42





	Road Less Traveled

**Author's Note:**

> In my Supernatural rewatch the above quote stuck out to me when John told Dean that he wasn’t taking good enough care of the Impala. Everyone knows how much Dean cared about the car so it always struck a cord with me. So, I thought I would write a fic about Dean trying to make sense of John’s death by making sure the Impala is spotless. Cue Sam forcing Dean to talk about it. 
> 
> Mild warning for strong language.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Dean continued to rub the rag against the hood of his beloved Impala, the scorching Alabama sun hot on his back. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the hood while a few beads ran from the back of his neck and down his shirt, which was already completely soaked through. His necklace hung limply from his neck as he plunged the rag into the bucket of soapy water before him. He swung the rag back onto the hood of the car with the soapy water running in small rivulets down the hood, dripping over the sides and creating small droplets of soap on the broken pavement under the Impala.

Impatience and frustration ate at Dean like a gnawing feeling in his stomach as he continued to push the rag forcefully against the hood. His fingers curled into the rag and squeezed out more water and soap from it. This was the tenth time he had washed his car in about the past three days. Dean hadn’t seen a speck of dirt on the whole vehicle, but that didn’t stop him from going through the ritual of cleaning it once more. 

“Dean?” 

Dean heard the crackle of footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know who was behind him. “Not now, Sam,” he muttered gruffly over his shoulder. 

Sam paused briefly as he considered heeding Dean’s warning. Stubbornness settled in his mind as he forced his feet forward. He frowned as he noticed the ferocity at which Dean was scrubbing the Impala clean. “Dean?” 

Dean squeezed the rag until soap and water spurted from between his fingers. His temple throbbed in the beginning of a headache, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Anger overwhelmed him as he thrust the rag onto the hood of the car. It bounced once, streaming soapy water down the sides of the hood. 

Dean snapped around. “Fuck off, Sam.” 

It was by far the worst that Dean had ever said to his little brother. It was relatively tame to some of the things Dean had shouted to Sam when he was furious at him. Although, this time there was more venom in his voice. His eyes flashed in agitation so deep that it seemed embedded in his soul. This went far beyond surface level anger. Blinding rage was as apart of Dean as his own skin. There seemed to be no way to separate Dean from the pain that led all of his decisions and feelings. 

“No,” Sam responded defiantly. His chin lifted in the air firmly. 

Dean clenched his jaw, lips slightly parted to show the tips of his teeth. “What did you just say,” Dean asked, his rumbling tone becoming low and dangerous. 

Sam held his ground, his feet nearly becoming rooted to the back top under his feet. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sam-“

“No, you listen to me. I’ve seen you mope around here for the better part of a month. You’re pissed, Dean. You have a right to be, but this isn’t helping,” Sam pointed out. 

Dean clutched his hand into a fist as his side. Energy vibrated down his arm, causing his fist to tremble as he longed to strike out against Sam, or anything in front of him. “I need to do something,” Dean shouted.

Sam blinked his eyes in surprise. “And cleaning the Impala is that something,” he asked sarcastically. 

Dean drew back with a forced laugh. His hand raised to rub against the side of his face, catching on the stubble that he had forgotten to shave earlier that morning. “Like I said before, Sam, fuck off.” Dean reached back over the Impala, grasping the rag to move it in a circular motion. He lifted the rag to plunge it back into the bucket of water. Water sloshed over the sides while he brought the rag upward, wringing it out and shaking water from his hands. He thrust the rag back onto the hood, leaning over to rub the rag up and down.

Sam wasn’t thrown off by Dean’s tone. He padded over to the edge of the Impala, kneeling beside the bucket, tilting it slightly to lift it. “Do you have another rag?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, his brow knit in surprise. “Sam—“

“If you tell me to fuck off one more time it’ll only make me want to stay more,” Sam interrupted with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Now, are you going to tell me where you keep an extra rag or I’m going to have to take yours?”

Dean muttered under his breath about Sam being a ‘annoying bitch’. He slid the rag he had been using in his brother’s direction. Sam stretched out his hand to catch it, nodding curtly to Dean.

Dean crouched to grab another rag that he had stashed by the other supplies. He dunked it into the soapy water, allowing the liquid to seep into every fiber unit it sunk to the bottom. Dean pulled it back out, wrung it out, and finally slung it against the hood harsher than he meant. 

The two worked in comfortable silence for the better have of twenty minutes. Sam took the back half of the car while Dean stayed on the front. They shared one bucket of water, falling into a rhythm with one crouching by the bucket with their rag and the other waiting patiently. 

Sam wasn’t sure why they were cleaning the Impala. He had watched Dean go through the same ritual almost everyday. He would come out here for hours either washing or polishing his beloved car. The first few days Sam had been fine with it. If this was what Dean did to settle himself and clam his nerves then Sam was relieved. It was better than drinking himself to death. 

However, that was before Dean had started to come out every day and wash the Impala for hours. He would come in with his shirt soaking wet, not saying a word to Sam as he made a beeline for the bathroom to shower. Sam had held out for as long as he could before realizing he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He knew his brother better than anyone and he could tell how empty he felt, how grief-stricken he was. Sam was also aware of Dean’s usual defense mechanism of ignoring a problem or hiding behind his humor and keeping himself busy. Dean was distant, cold, and defensive. 

Sam had tried to bring up his concerns to his brother about how Dean was coping with their father’s death. Every time Dean would brush him off or completely ignore him. It created a thick tension between the two that threatened to bubble to the surface at every given moment. Sam had tried everything to produce a rouse out of Dean. He had shouted at him, thrown things at him, and chastised him for not dealing with John’s death. Dean would only snicker and unleash a slew of sarcastic comments before announcing he was going out. Eventually, Sam had given up and tried to give Dean his space until he could no longer do so and had to confront him or risk Dean reaching a point of no return.

“Dean, can I ask you a question,” Sam finally dared inquire after spending a half an hour helping Dean clean the Impala, despite not moving the car in a few weeks. 

Dean rolled his eyes, dunking his hand back into the bucket. “I’d prefer you didn’t, but I have a feeling you’re going to anyway,” he muttered. He scooped the rag and set it back on top of the hood, his shoulders straining as he reached to the headlights to begin to clean them. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Why do you do this? I mean, everyday you come out and clean the Impala. I know it’s your baby and everything, but we haven’t gone anywhere. It can’t get much cleaner.”

Dean curled his lip in frustration. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation with Sam. The only thing that kept him from storming away was how stubborn and persistent Sam could be. They also lived together in a single motel room. It was difficult to truly have space and privacy when living in such close quarters. Sam would find a way to force Dean to talk one way or another. If Sam’s track record was anything to go by, he would wear down Dean before Dean could weasel his way out of any conversation. 

“Maybe I just like my Baby clean,” Dean suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Sam rolled his eyes as frustration bubbled inside of him. “That’s not true and you know it. What is your deal with wanting the Impala to be pristine? Just think about all the places that we go. We can’t keep it clean all the time.”

“We can try,” answered Dean curtly, turning his attention back.

Sam scoffed in disbelief. Dean could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. “And why is that?” Dean was giving him nothing and it infuriated them to no end. 

Dean straightened to face Sam, his shoulders back, eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t want rust on my car. Is that such a bad thing?”

Realization suddenly dawned on Sam. He sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest, the rag and water completely forgotten. “Is this about what Dad said? About if he knew that you weren’t going to take care of it he wouldn’t have given you the car?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s voice was curt as he shoved his damp hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders in difference. 

Sam laughed once more at Dean’s tone. “C’mon, man. I know you. This is some weird grief process because you feel guilty about Dad’s death! You’re still following his orders even in death!”

Dean shot Sam a wary glance. “Shut up, Sam.” 

“I know you feel guilty over Dad’s death, but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t ask him to trade his life for yours,” Sam pointed out.

Dean narrowed his eyes to unforgiving slits, the nails of his hand digging into his palm as he clutched his hand into a fist. With his free hand he pointed a finger at Sam’s face. “I said shut up, Sam. You don’t want to go there.”

Sam struck out a hand, his palm open, to swat Dean’s hand out of the way. “I actually do. You’ve been in this sort of trance ever since he died. You won’t say anything to me unless it’s a snide remark or some kind of joke. You don’t eat, you don’t drink, you don’t do anything beside wash this stupid car.” He huffed in disbelief. “Even in death you still worship that man when all he ever cared about was finding that demon.”

Suddenly, Dean lunged at Sam. He grasped Sam’s shoulders as he partially lifted him from the ground, slamming him against the Impala. Sam’s head jolted to the side as Dean pressed against him, his breath hot on Sam’s cheek. “You ever say anything like that again and I’ll make you regret it.” 

Sam shifted under Dean’s weight, unable to force him off. His fingers gripped at the edges of the Impala while his gaze locked with Dean’s. He could see the anger in his eyes, burning hot and fierce behind his eyes. “I miss him too, man, but this isn’t going to help. You have to let it go.” He gave a brief pause when Dean didn’t loosen his grip. “Dean, you have to let it go.” 

Dean snapped out of the swirl of anger he felt. His eyes blinked in realization as he took a step back, releasing his brother from his grasp. Sam stumbled against the side of the Impala, his back slumped and slightly aching from the force Dean used to pin him against the car. 

“And what if I can’t,” Dean cried, his head partially bowed. 

Sam rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, attempting to loosening the tight muscles lurking just below his skin. “What?”

“And what if I can’t get past it? Dad’s dead because of me. He traded his life for mine. How can I not feel somewhat responsible,” Dean asked with a haunted look in his eyes. 

Sam sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Dean. It wasn’t your fault. Dad made his choice to save you. That’s on him, not you.” He gestured toward the Impala. “But, I don’t think that compulsively cleaning the Impala every spare moment you get is going to change anything. You kept it in great condition if you ask me. The only reason that Dad said that was because he was pissed at me and he lashed out at you. That’s just what Dad did.”

Dean knew there was truth to what Sam was saying. However, that didn’t change the numb feeling creeping through ever fiber of Dean’s being. “Maybe.” 

“You can’t keep doing this. The guilt is going to consume you at this rate.” Sam licked his dry lips hesitantly. He knew that Dean wasn’t big into chick-flick moments, but this was something that needed to be said. Dean certainly wouldn’t be the first one, so Sam decided to bridge that gap. “I can’t loose you too.” 

Dean looked at the Impala that stretched in front of him. Sam was right. He had cleaned the thing so much in the past few weeks that he was sure he would start to work the paint off. Dean wasn’t even sure if that was possible, but if anyone could do it, it would be Dean. “Then what do I do?”

“You hunt. You drink. You spend time with me. You do whatever you need to. Just don’t shut me out,” Sam requested. Having these heart to heart moments with Dean was few and far between. There was no saying how he would respond to them. Dean always preferred to do not talk about these things. Sam longed for his brother to give him something, anything. 

Dean thought for a moment. This was way too much sharing of feelings for his liking. He knew that Sam was right, at least partially. Dean didn’t think he would let Sam know that since Sam could turn self righteous quicker than anyone else Dean knew. That didn’t mean that Dean couldn’t let Sam know that he was sorry in his own way. 

A wry smile of amusement showed on Dean’s face as he reached to dunk the rag back into the soapy water. Sam’s shoulders slumped, fearing that he hadn’t gotten through to his brother after all. 

“Hey, Sammy.” 

Sam looked up to see a soapy rag flying through the air. It slapped against his shoulder, falling to the ground. Sam had been so stunned that he didn’t even try to catch it. His jaw dropped open in shock as he stared at his brother.

“C’mon, Sammy. Lighten up.” Dean grabbed another rag and dunked it into the sudsy water. He rolled it into a ball and threw it at his brother. 

Sam was ready this time and reached out to catch it. Water and soap splashed from the rag once he caught it, sprinkling his face and neck with the lukewarm water. Sam gasped in surprise as a smile pulled on his lips. “Oh, yeah?” 

He crouched down and grabbed his own rag. He straightened to prepare to throw it at his brother before realizing that Dean was nowhere to be found. Sam chuckled as he grasped the bucket of water and began to creep around the car as silently as possible. Dean couldn’t have gotten far.

Sam looked over the hood of the car to see Dean tucked against the passenger side door. He had his eyes trained on the back of the car, expecting Sam to jump out at him in that direction. Sam had other ideas. 

With a shout of glee, Sam jumped from around the hood and stood over Dean. Dean tried to rush to his feet and run the other direction, but Sam was quicker. He dumped the bucket onto his brother’s head as Dean tried to crawl away. The cool water ran down his back and soaked his jeans, making them stick to his legs. Dean had his arms lifted as he tried to shake out his shirt. 

Sam laughed as he dropped the bucket, cupping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to quiet his laughter and aggravate Dean. 

Too late.

“Oh, I’m going to get you for that,” Dean exclaimed fiercely, amusement lighting in his eyes. 

Even though there was soap in Dean’s spiky hair and his shirt and pants were plastered against his skin, Sam didn’t doubt Dean’s ability to get him back for this. It would be the prank war all over again.

Dean jumped to his feet, sending Sam bolting in the opposite direction. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Sam and Dean headed back into the motel nearly 45 minutes later, both were exhausted. Dean was still dripping wet, his socks sloshing in his shoes after every step. It would take a good amount of scrubbing to wash all the dried soap from his hair. 

Sam too was looking worse for wear. Dean had managed to pull up a handful of grass and dirt and hurtle it at Sam while Sam had been running away. It had gotten in his hair and the grit had showered down his sweaty back. Smears of soap and dirt discolored his flannel shirt as well as his jeans. His slightly long hair was matted while his muscles slightly ached from running. 

“That was fun,” Dean panted as he walked toward his bed, grabbing his duffle on the way and setting it on his bed. He rummaged through it, pulling a clean t-shirt, jeans, and boxers. 

Sam headed to his own bed to pull out some clothes from his own duffle. “It was something. Was the dirt really necessary?”

“Just be glad I didn’t throw some poison ivy at you. I swear that I saw some,” Dean taunted. He zipped back up his duffle before turning to his brother. “Want the first shower?” 

Sam didn’t hesitate to answer. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to leave you some hot water.” He carried his change of clothes to the bathroom and shut the door behind him, leaving Dean to watch some crappy TV until he was finished.

Things may not have been fixed between them, but they had reached an understanding. They had each let off a little steam and relieved the tension between them. They were still two different people with two very different ways of dealing with their grief for their father. Sam would never understand why Dean was so obedient to their father, especially after the way John had treated Dean all these years. Sam saw no point in trying to argue with Dean about it. It wouldn’t happen overnight. They had made progress and they would keep making progress. That was the thing about Sam and Dean. They always worked things out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it and are staying healthy and safe!


End file.
